The Lamp
by Pasta Martini
Summary: John Watson is one of the most ordinary people in London. Tired of doing the same thing every day, he enters an Arabian shop and ends up leaving with a genie lamp that might change his life for the better, or for the worse. Genie!Sherlock/John


**New story! Woo!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

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John Watson was no one special. He was merely just another bleak smudge of the masses of London. An ex-army doctor, an ignored brother, a limp-ridden bloke living off an army pension. He was normal. He was bland. And in all honesty, he was getting down right fed up with it.

That might have been the reason John entered the Arabian-themed knick-knack shop on the corner near his flat. Or it might have been the ever insistent tugging he felt in the pit of his stomach every time he passed it on his way back from the store. But, none the less, on the last Saturday in October, John pushed open the door to the antique shop and made his way inside.

He was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of several different kinds of exotic spices and the fumes coming off from about ten incense burners. He coughed, closing his watering eyes and waving his hand in front of his face. When he reopened them, John stepped back in surprise as he was greeted by the sight of a small, plump woman wearing an extremely colorful headscarf.

The woman smiled widely at him and threw her arms out, "Welcome! I knew you would come here eventually!" Her dark brown eyes sparkled mischievously as she dropped her arms, quickly grabbing his hand and pulling him farther into the shop before John could ask her exactly what she meant by that.

John's head was still slightly spinning from all the strong odors assaulting his nose as he wondered how in the world this woman recognized him. He assumed it was how he had to pass here every time he went to get groceries, but by the way she looked at him, it made him feel like she knew a lot more about him than that.

"Ah, I know exactly what you need, but I simply do not know which one to give you," she said, leading the sputtering man to a bookshelf in the back of the establishment that held some of the most beautiful lamps that John had ever laid eyes on. And not your regular "I-need-this-to-see" lamps, but _genie_ lamps of all shape, size, and color. Some were encrusted with jewels that seemed far too nice to be in such a shop as this, others were polished to the point where one had no difficulty seeing their reflection. Blue and purple, silver and gold, patterned with velvet covered handles- you name it!

While they were all very spectacular, the ex-soldier's eyes caught on a very bright, sudden sparkle coming from the very top shelf that faded in less than half a second. He had to blink a few times before his full vision came back to him, but he immediately reached up to the shelf and pushed aside a few of the other lamps. His hand began searching for the source of the now gone light, but then something scorching hot touched his fingers, making him jerk his hand back in surprised.

"Oh fu-…What in the hell was that?!" He exclaimed, rubbing his fingertips with his other hand, trying to soothe the pain away.

The woman, who he had almost forgotten was there, shrieked in delight. John stared at her, incredulous, as her small hand shot up and grabbed the thing that had burnt his fingers. John was wondering why it hadn't hurt her as well, when she shoved it into his hands and he felt that it was now completely cool.

It was a lamp.

A very, very tarnished silver lamp that was covered in dust and dented all over. The spout of the lamp curved in a very elegant way, but other than that, it was the most plain lamp of all of the ones on the shelf. There were no jewels, no velvet, no anything that would make it stand out from the others. In fact, if John were a collector of such things, this lamp would be the last he would pick. But that might be his burnt fingers talking.

When John looked back to the woman, she smiled triumphantly at him and said, "This is the one!"

He smiled too, but he was obviously confused. "But I'm not looking for a lamp. In fact, I don't really know why I'm in here. I probably can't even afford this old thing, anyway."

The small woman was waving her hands in dismissal before he had even finished his sentence. "Oh no, no. You don't have to buy it! It chose you; you take it!"

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Chose me? What do you mean?"

She sighed, but clearly was happy to explain it to him. "This lamp chose you. It burnt you, yes? So you take it. And don't say you won't because I'm not letting you out of here if that lamp isn't in your hands!" She crossed her arms in front of her in a defiant stance, but the smile on her face made the threat meaningless. Still, John didn't want to tell her that he didn't want it.

"Oh alright, fine!" He smiled back at her and followed her to the front of the shop again. The lady's happiness seemed to be contagious! "I'll take it, but what am I supposed to do with it?"

The shop-owner opened the door for him and laughed. "You silly man! What do you think you do with genie lamps? Now go home! You can thank me later. Have a lovely rest of the day, John!"

She pushed said man out the door, and when John turned back to ask her again what she meant and exactly how she knew his name because he was sure he never introduced himself, he made a noise of surprise.

The door to the shop was shut and as he peered inside, he couldn't see anything. All the lights were off and it seemed as if the woman had never been there at all.

John looked up the street towards his flat and then down at the lamp.

What the hell just happened?


End file.
